That moment, a very quiet moment, when I hold him close to me and both my arms are wrapped around him. His head is on my shoulder and his chest gently vibrates against mine. I feel his sweet breath at the side of my neck along with soft tiny arms clinging onto me.
It’s been two weeks since I became a mom, and never have two weeks felt so long and so fast at the same time.
The most powerful thing my body has ever done is to grow a life inside of it. No personal miracle that I have ever experienced comes close to discovering the scale of my body’s capacity: to create, transform, and nurture another life.
“Sometimes chaos is the very thing that deliberately shakes up our neatly ordered worlds in order to get us out of the neatly ordered ruts that have kept us stuck,” says Craig Lounsbrough.
I just stumbled into a place commonly called a limbo.
Dear Baby Willey,
Currently, you’ve been in my tummy for 18 weeks. My app says you’re as big as a sweet potato, about 5.5 inches and 5 ounces. Another app says you’re the size of a croissant, and I’m imagining how your little face is reacting to the size references these pregnancy apps are giving me. Is your balled fist raising to celebrate the comparison or are you indignantly pouting, as I would, to false assumptions?
We were biking along the streets of Luang Prabang, Laos. It was a December morning and another particularly chilly day (for my tropical standards). The streets were quiet—almost meditative. We stopped at a neighborhood pharmacy, parked our vintage Japanese bikes on the curb, and navigated our way into asking the middle-aged Laotian proprietress for a pregnancy test kit.